Page 58 of On the Ropes
“When was the last really great party you can remember?”
“When Dean won the Golden Gloves,” Eddie said.
My mothers went rigid next to me. It was funny how people’s opinions of me affected even good memories. Victorious memories. Nights that made me feel alive and like I finally belonged.
Tabitha cast a questioning gaze my way.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Ah, shit. Sorry Dean,” Eddie said. “Didn’t mean to bring you into this.”
“It’s really fine,” I said, then cracked a slight smile. “It was a good night, yeah?”
Eddie whistled under his breath. “A good night is when the Birds win on a Sunday. This was like something out of a movie.”
Tabitha stepped back from her camera, propping her hands on her hips. “What are these Golden Gloves? Some totally cool boxing thing, I imagine?”
A whole lot of eyes landed on me.
Not even if this could count as your big comeback?The blinking recording light of Tabitha’s camera wouldn’t let me stop thinking about that phone call.
I cleared my throat and crooked my finger toward that light. Tabitha’s brows shot up. Watching me closely, she slowly turned until the camera was on me.
“It’s an amateur boxing competition,” I said. “They hold them in a bunch of different cities. But there’s also a national one. The year it was held in Philly, I competed.” I paused. “And won.”
“The whole thing?” Tabitha asked, looking impressed.
“Yes.”
“So when you say block party, you mean—”
“The whole fucking neighborhood partied till dawn,” Eddie said, clapping his hands together.
“And there was the cutest little parade down Passyunk Ave,” Alice said.
Tabitha cocked her head. “You don’t seem like the parade kind of guy, Mr. Machine.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I didn’t want it. Felt too…” I mulled over the right word. “Flashy.”
But then Midge nudged me with her elbow and a look of maternal scrutiny. I rubbed a hand along my jaw before finally relenting. “Okay. I’ll admit it. It was one of the best nights of my life. Because people that I cared about showed up for me. People who knew how hard I’d trained. How hard and brutal boxing can be. It was important. And I was grateful in the end.”
Tabitha peered over her camera at me. I cleared my throat again, suddenly nervous. I realized how easy it was to share something so intimate with her, even if she was recording it.
“We’re as proud of our son now as we were then,” Midge chimed in. “His life’s passion could be watching paint dry and I’d tell everyone I knew about it. It never mattered to us one way or another if he won or not. That night though, walking down Passyunk next to him, with cars honking and people cheering his name, well, that is a feeling I’ll never forget.” Then her hands flew to her cheeks. “Did I say that to the whole internet?”
Tabitha laughed. “Don’t worry, this isn’t live. I won’t add it in if you don’t want me to.”
“I want you to,” Midge said firmly. “Though maybe it has nothing to do with building a park, right?”
Tabitha had dropped to her knees, digging around in a black camera bag. She was doing her best to hide her face. I didn’t think anyone else noticed that she’d swiped a tear from under her eye.
I did.
She sniffed. Brushed the hair from her forehead and then stood. Her smile was cranked all the way up. It seemed forced to me.
With a twist, she removed her camera from the tripod and held it up. “If the three of you scoot together, I can take your picture.”
My parents hugged me close—Mom on my left, Midge on my right. We’d posed like this for pictures my entire life. A similar image hung in their house from my adoption day, when I was only a few months old.
“Smile,” Tabitha sang. Her shutter clicked. She seemed to agree with whatever she saw on the digital screen. “And to answer your question, every person involved in an effort like this is the story. Your experiences and memories, your dreams and beliefs, the history of Annie and her holiday flasks…it’s all led you here. My favorite part is pulling those messy threads together and showing how they connect. Our lives almost always do, more than we realize.”
The next few hours of work passed quickly. Neighbors and friends came and went as we hauled the remaining garbage from the lot and into the dumpster. Tabitha filmed short interviews with everyone there, documenting the process with her camera as she worked alongside us.
We revolved around each other like planets, making frequent eye contact. Sharing smiles that should have felt more forbidden.
I spent most of the time considering her words about messy threads and connected lives. I thought about us walking to school together. Attending those support groups together. Her falling into my lap and moving into Linda’s house and the two of us planning this park.
I was an amateur when it came to women and relationships. Tabitha seemed like an expert. Flirtatious, charming. She enjoyed sex and dating probably without hours of pointless worrying.
But even I knew the warmth that spread through me every time our eyes met was a complication.
